


A grumpy cat time travels

by RPingBadThings



Category: Naruto
Genre: A lot of problemms, Also Madara and his saving the world problem, Gen, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Madara and his cat problem, Other, Time Travel, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:57:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8492404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RPingBadThings/pseuds/RPingBadThings
Summary: When Madara travels back in time - and takes it smoothly, after all, wierder shit happened to him before - he has one job to do. Kill the Kaguya Goddess and try not to ruin the whole world in the process (again.) work in (SLOW) progress; RIP





	1. The cat time travels and adopts a kid

**Author's Note:**

> Please do give me some feedback 'cause I really think the whole thing turned out quite flat. I'm out of my depth here. Help.

EDIT : 09.12.16 - i've done some editing on this chapter. 

EDIT : 26.10.17 - I'm sorry :C Gonna do something about this fic some day. 

_______________________

 

Madara Uchiha closed his eyes, deciding that he could sacrifice a few precious seconds on the battlefield to appreciate the _irony_ of his current situation. Honestly, he had already died _thrice_ and since the death didn’t seem to stick to him, what where the odds that a stray kunai or jutsu-gone-wild would catch him by accident?

 

“ _You know, I expected more gratitude, child,”_ came a scolding voice and Madara frowned, trying desperately to chase away the headache he knew was in store for him. Later, perhaps, but that much more painful for the delay.

 

“Oh, shut up old goat,” Madara spat, shooting Sage of Six Paths his best murderous look. “You should have saved Hashirama.”

 

Once, he would have never admitted that a Senju would be better suited to do anything than him, an Uchiha, but this? This _time travel_ _world saving_ business was really something he never accounted for. He already knew he was the villain of the story, the ultimate antagonist. Hell, he succeed in destroying the world and enjoyed it! No matter the Kaguya’s Shadow help, it was Madara’s wit and planning, his cunning and his hatred mixed together, that had given birth to a plan so envious and foul it simply had to work - and not even Hashirama, immortal at that point, could stop him.

 

Not even the Child of Prophecy, as much as the boy had tried.

 

He did, in the end, got screwed over by the Rabbit Bitch, but the credit for the whole spectacle was due to him.

 

“ _Hashirama would try to save everyone,”_ the Sage shook his head, as much resigned as Madara felt under all his anger and agitation. “ _He would try to unite all nations and defeat Kaguya with honour. That’s why he’s not here.”_

 

 A fair distance away, to the east, Madara spotted orange goggles and a pair of Sharingan red eyes, a boy running at a break-a-neck speed toward a cave that everyone knew was occupied by Iwa-nin.  Few meters behind him, there was another one, with silver colouring and a mask covering half of his face.

 

“Fight fire with fire?” Madara muttered, already contemplating a quick rescue. It would be nothing for him - who once tamed all of the Biju singlehandedly - to sweep in, kill the Iwa-nin and save the kids from their fate. Alas, as a consequence, Hatake wouldn’t end up with a Sharingan and _the copy-nin of Konoha_ would never be born. And Obito wouldn’t get Hashirama cells planted in his body.

 

“ _More like let one evil bastard finish the other.”_ Sage mussed with a small smile. “ _I know your hatred Uchiha Madara, you gave the world a nice sample of that. Can you use it to end the Rabbit Goddess once and for good?”_

Ah.

 

Even if not tasked with it, if Madara ever got even a small chance at revenge - at ruining that little bitch’s plans and sealing her away, or even better, _killing her_ , he wouldn’t have hesitated. No matter the cost.

 

And never let it be said that _out of spite_ isn’t a good motivation.

 

Half of Madara’s life decisions were made in that spirit - and in the end, he’s the only one still standing. Not the Senju Brothers, not the Biju, not even Kaguya - but him, brought back in time to get his revenge up-front.

 

Oh, and the Goddess would pay, Madara will make sure of it.

 

There was a loud explosion, earth rattled under his feet and then - screams, cries. A wave of two desperate chakras and a third, slowly thinning and fading.

 

Madara couldn’t help but activate his Sharingan - only to the tree tears stage - and devour the Yellow’s Flash movement as the man broke through enemies’  line, one swift kill after another, until all that was left were bodies and gore. If Madara, with all his power gathered through decades, was to face this man, the outcome surely would be interesting - even if Namikaze’s chakra was nothing in comparison to Madara’s little powerhouse, he was _annoyingly fast_ and what’s the use of big, strong techniques if you can’t aim at your target?

 

“ _I’ll leave the world to you, then”_ Sage concluded, visibly tired of this one sided conversation. “ _At least try not to ruin it like the last one.”_

 

“Hn.”

 

I.

 

 

It took less than twenty minutes for Nohara Rin to successfully implant Obito’s eye into Kakashi and for Namikaze Minato to get rid of most of the evidence of their mission-turned-disaster. Out of necessity, the younger Uchiha’s body was left, half buried under the stones, as well as what remained of Iwa-nin’s squad.

 

Perhaps it was because of shock, but the two kids under Namikaze worked quickly and efficiently, not yet mourning the loss of their comrade - it hasn’t settled yet, that treacherous thought, that they’ll never see him smile again, that it’s their own fault.

 

Madara knew the feeling.

 

He watched all of his younger brothers fall and was utterly helpless.

 

He had also had years to accept their deaths and though his anger never lacked fuel and his hatred burned as hot as Amateratsu itself, the guilt - that dangerous, crushing feeling, had settled in his heart, no longer demanding punishment. It was still there, sleeping, stirring only from time to time, but relatively harmless.

 

He watched Team Minato depart to complete their mission, leaving unconscious Obito behind, but not dared to move. Not yet. Instead, he did his best to conceal his own signature, to blend in with nature itself - the skill didn’t came as easy for him as for Tobirama but it was skill he honed nonetheless, and as such, excelled at.

 

Just as he hoped, Zetsu in his black-and-white form, did not notice him - Madara was quite certain that if his presence here was discovered, he out of all the people, would not be simply ignored - and with fast hand seals, produced a jutsu to retrieve the Uchiha boy.

 

Remaining motionless, half tucked behind a tree and half under a bush, was the hardest thing Madara has done in long, long time - seeing the monstrosity that _fucked with him_ and _betrayed him_ was bound to threw him out of balance, to blind him with anger - but reality was so much worse than theory, for Madara was sure that if his eyes hadn’t already reached Mangekyou Sharingan, that hatred for Zetsu that ran in his veins would surely awaken it.  

 

Yet, everything was going according to plan - Zetsu had to take the boy and so Madara waited, hiding in plain day, shaking slightly to release his fury and cursing his Uchiha blood, that boiled and screamed at him to fight, to tear down the traitor...

 

When the chakra from Zetsu’s technique vanished, Madara emerged from the tree shadow and quickly made his way toward the crime scene. Walking past the Iwa-nin corpses, Madara’s eyes flashed red, searching for any surprises - after all, he was on an enemy’s territory and his knowledge about the future had its limits.

 

Uchiha crouched next to the stones that just few minutes ago were crushing Obito, bit his thumb and using as little chakra as possible, summoned his old friend. It’s been more than fifty years since he saw them last time - and judging by the low growl coming from a cloud of white smoke, he will have to pay for that neglect.

 

“Fuku,” Madara greeted, taking cautious step backward. His summons might be small but that did not mean Uchiha enjoyed being their target.

 

“Madara-bastard!” The small, black kitten hollered with all its might, scaring the birds from nearby trees. “Where the fuck have you been all these years?!”

 

“Hi, nice to see you again,” Madara showed the kitten both of his hand, hoping that a gesture of peace would somehow improve his situation. “How was your day?”

 

“ _How was my day?!”_ Fuku, for all he was just a kitten - albeit immortal one - arched his back, claws showing up with a promise of pain and began his tirade: “How was my _forty six years_ you fucker!? Forty six years without you showing up or summoning any of us! And that _after_ we went to your _funeral_!”

 

Madara had a sense of mind to look at least slightly abashed, he grunted under his nose and stared at the grass, hoping to just wait his friend out.

 

“We _mourned you_! And then when our contract didn’t disappear, we _searched_ for you!” Fuku yelled, not caring who might hear them. Madara flinched, because, hell, hiding from his own summons was difficult at best and usually nearly impossible without Zetsu. “You made us into what we are and then abandoned us! You really are a Legendary Bastard, you know?!”

 

At that, Uchiha sighed loudly and with a firm movement, picked up Fuku from his stand at the stone. In an instant, small, needle-like claws slashed through his hands and teeth dug into his wrist - all of it, accompanied by a yowl from hell.

 

“I’m sorry - ouch! - I’m sorry Fuku!” Madara flinched when his summon bit again, this time into the soft flesh of the inside of his hand. “Fuku, I had my reasons!”

 

How could he ever explain to his kitten that he went mad with grief and hatred and decided to subdue the whole world? How could he tell him that he caused a Great Shinobi War, fought it and won it _and then was screwed over?_ Fuku would die laughing and he’ll never be able to live that one down. And there was still a matter of two Madara Uchiha existing in this time.

 

“Where’s the milk?” Fuku asked, eyeing Madara’s face as if ready to attack him again.

 

“No milk this time, I’m afraid,” Madara muttered and to advert Fuku’s attention, began to scratch his head.. “There’s a lot to be done and I’ll need some help. Would you and your family be my eyes and ears again?”

 

Fuku purred, but somehow managed to sound as grudgingly unhappy as Madara thought him to be. Staying on his summons good side was always a pain in the ass  - one he might have enjoyed at times - but after so many years of silence on his part, it was given that their relationship would suffer.

 

“There’s been your blood spilled here,” the cat inquired, tilting its head from side to side, curious. “But you’re not worried.”

 

It’s been a long time since Madara mourned a loss of his relative, but the cat couldn’t have possibly known about the future that would never come to be. Therefore, Uchiha offered only a quiet hum.

 

“What would you have us do?” Fuku asked, pushing its head into Madara’s palm and demanding more affection. The man complied, before answering.

 

“I need you to keep close tabs on Kirigaruke and Mizukage,” Madara offered quietly. “I need to know if he’s controlled by Sharingan and if so, to what extent. It’d be good to know whereabouts of Hoshigaki Kisame and Momochi Zabuza as well. I think they’re still children, but there’s potential in them.” 

 

Fuku snorted in his arms and Madara’s eyebrows rose at that.

 

“Some spying in Konoha, too. I’ve been out of the gossip circle for far too long,” Madar added as an afterthought.

 

“You’re fucking insane, Uchiha,” the cat said and then, promptly bit Madara’s hand, again.

 

“You!” Madara scoffed, dropping the hellish thing down. “What was that for? I already apologized.”

 

“You forgot the milk, you little shit,” Fuku stated. “And the Hidden Mist is _wet._ You’re sending us to a _wet place,_ you deserve all pain that’s coming your way.”

 

“There’ll be plenty of fishes for your kind, I imagine,” Madara deadpanned, sucking blood out of his newly obtained wound.

 

“You want us spy on another Uchiha,” Fuku continued, gracefully licking his bloodstained paw. “And on another country as well, which means whatever’s coming, would be big. Spill your secrets, Madara-bastard or we won’t help you.”

 

“Don’t forget you’re bound to obey me by the contract,” Madara spat, but nonetheless, crouched next to the cat and reached out with his hand. Fuku, after a second or two, bend forward to lick Madara’s scratched hand.

 

“There’s a woman out there who got on my bad side, so I’m going to ruin her plans. But, you see, she has powerful allies and they’ve been working on it for a long time. It’ll take a lot of discreet scheming to end her, but in two years, everything should be over.” 

 

“What about now? What are you going to do?” Fuku, for all his curiosity, still managed to look nonchalant.

 

“Now?” Madara spread his hands, gesturing to all the bodies laying  around. “I’m going to rob the dead and stay in a nice bathhouse for as long as their money will let me.”

 

The cat snorted again, managed to send Madara’s way an amused glare, before disappearing with a quiet _poof._ Madara decided to take it as approval and acceptance.

_“_ Little menace,” Uchiha muttered under his nose, but didn’t manage to sound angry. The cats were his summons for as long as he could remember and even if they weren’t as big or scary as Hatake’s wolfs or even as skilled as Tobirama’s lone panther, they suited him well. Madara could use all the flashy and destructive jutsus humans ever created, but he was a shinobi, which also entailed _espionage._

And having a whole Clan of domestic and stray cats at one disposal? It was like owning your own spy network that could infiltrate even the best warded castle.

 

 _Well,_ Madara thought, looking at the settling sun. _I wonder if there’s a bathhouse nearby._

 

II.

 

It turned out, that during the Third Shinobi World War finding a bathhouse willing to shelter an unknown shinobi wasn’t an easy task, even if Madara managed to steal a great amount of Ryo to pay for his bed and meal. He could use his Sharingan and simply _persuade_ people to invite and house him, but there was always that slim chance of another ninja noticing.

 

Madara has spent a lifetime either hunting or running from one Tobirama Senju, and the man, although all of the Uchiha loathed him, was an incredible sensor. More than enough to make Madara paranoid of his use of chakra and leaving traces of any presence at all. Theoretically, with Tobirama’s death there shouldn’t be many people capable of even half of what Senju could perform, but again, that redhead Uzumaki girl that Sasuke brought into battlefield had had enough skill to predict Obito’s movement.

 

It wouldn’t do, to be discovered by accident, so Madara simply walked out of the unwelcoming bathhouses in Kusa, deciding to cross the border and try his luck in Taki. It was both near the Land of Grass - where in a few days, inevitably, the Kannabi Bridge incident will occur - and Mountain Graveyard, where Madara knew Zetsu took the young Uchiha to experiment on.

 

There was, simply, nothing else left for Madara than to wait and ponder his next steps. The fate of Nohara Rin, soon to become Sanbi jinchuriki, was yet undecided - he could save girl or let her commit suicide.

 

With that issue on his mind, he wandered into small civilian village, only few kilometres deep into Taki territory. It was well past nightfall, but people were still awake, most likely waiting with dread for any sing of fighting. Men were sitting on the porches of their houses, eying him with fear and suspicion, when women hoarded children around them, wary of a stranger.

 

There were battles where shinobi avoided causing too much casualties, and if possible, kept far away from civilians.

 

Yet, there also were wars, where destroying as much of the other country as possible was the sole goal.

 

Madara could try and keep his identity as a ninja hidden - but even a simple farmer would notice sooner or later his reflexes or the way he moves, soundlessly unless he focuses on intentionally making some noise. He knew that at one point he’ll slip, his mask of a civilian man would shatter and then he would end either causing panic and calling attention to himself, or having a whole village after his ass.

 

Using a Nara’s saying, it would be _troublesome._

 

So there he was, a mighty ninja without a roof over his head, clad in simple red-leather armour and with two katanas at his side and gunbai at his back. (Well, he could have sealed that one, as it _was_ Madara’s Uchiha signature weapon, but who will ever believe that he’s a nightmare reincarnate?)  

 

“Shinobi-san! Shinobi-san!” A female, young voice squeaked to his right and Madara looked just in time to see a small, blond girl with a cat in her arms halt at his side. “Are you looking for a room to stay?”

 

With an eyebrow raised high, Madara regarded the child. She was quite bold, to run to him like that and offer lodging. He could sense the adults agitation and no small amount of animosity, undoubtedly directed at the two of them.

 

“Why would you offer?” He asked in return, not fooled by the little girl appearance. There were traces of faint chakra signature in her feet and hands and even if she was just someone’s pupil, just learning how to use that energy to climb higher or run faster, it also meant she was a shinobi.

 

In making or nor, any ninja could cause trouble. If any bit of information reached Zetsu, who’s to say he wouldn’t change his plans? Madara didn’t need the additional problem of tracking Kaguya’s Shadow before destroying it.

 

“Miruku-san said you stink of death and you need a bath and a good night rest, so I should let you stay with me!” The girl answered, looking pointedly at Madara.

 

“Miruku-san?” Madara tilted his head to one said, not comprehending any of this.

 

That is, until the white cat spoke.

 

“Yo, old grump!”

 

Madara closed his eyes, pained, and imagined the vein on his forehead pulsing with barely contained anger. Why, why all the cats in the world insisted on calling him names? What did he ever did to them?

 

“Fine,” he spat, trying to murder Mikuru-san with his stare alone. A little girl, an unknown ninja and a talking cat in the middle of civilian village were bound to make a scene and Madara really, really would like to avoid that.  “Has Fuku asked you for a favour on my behalf?”

 

A bit of chakra, Sharingan on and the cat could be but a memory.

 

“Oh, no, no, no” the cat sing sang, as the trio made their way west. “It never is that simple, it never is! You see, I am a ninneko, as was my father and his father and his father and so on, so on. Your precious little Fuku is simply a kitten that a man decided to teach some tricks. Nothing special. Entertainment at best, I bet chicks like to see a big man with little kitten in his arms.”

 

Madara sighed inwardly, if the cat only knew - it was a fact that his cats originally did

 not possess chakra nor could they use the energy of nature, but that was how most of the shinobi-animals Clan were founded. Inuzuka dogs were plain dogs before they were trained, before they adapted to their new role - so were the Hatake’s wolfs. Madara’s cats were no different, and although they couldn’t produce their own chakra it made them all the more useful and stealthy. Undetectable little furry spies.

 

Uchiha looked grimly at the cat, prompting it to continue.

 

“But all cats of the world like a good gossip, you see,” Mikuru-san hummed, seeming way too much amused for Madara’s liking. “And words travel fast between us, cats. Fuku said to Kino-chan, and Kino-chan said to Denka-san and Hina-san, and they said to Nekobaa-sama and she said to me, that an evil bastard is back in town.”

 

Madara raised his eyebrows at that.

 

“And _I_ was curious,” the cat finished, a board smile in place.

 

“He just heard that you’re great at massaging and petting cats and that you make a great roasted chicken, shinobi-san” the girl explained much to the cat’s despair. “I’d like to taste that too!”

 

As if to enforce that plea, girl’s stomach grumbled hungrily.

 

“Hn.” 

 

 

 

Three hours later, it was Madara that ended up cleaning small kitchen and washing the dishes. Of course, he was also the one to cook and the one to put the little girl to sleep. A few days ago - or rather, in a few decades - he would have ordered the child around and demanded absolute obedience. But he already caused the Fourth Great War, he fought it and won it almost by himself and suddenly, all that superiority he felt throughout his life was gone.

 

Swapped with a longing for a family long since lost.

 

Madara used to cook for his brothers and cleaning after them was pretty much mandatory, since he was the oldest and therefore _the responsible one._ Doing that chores now, after such a long break, made him nostalgic again. Enough to tuck a girl in bed.

 

“That chicken was really something,” Mikuru-san purred, licking his paws. He had, somehow, devoured two portions of it and seemed content only after drinking a small bowl of milk afterwards. “You might be an evil bastard and a grump but oh boy, do you cook.”

 

Madara threw a wet towel at the cat - and scowled when the white menace _shunshined_ away.

 

“Oh, really?” He intoned, rather flatly. Then, with a heavy sigh he made himself comfortable on an old, battered couch. “Now, cat, spill. I know you want something more than petting and food.”

 

Proving his words true, yellow eyes flashed in the darkness straight at Madara. Mikuru-san, low on his paws, with his butt raised and tail waving, stared at his new prey.

 

“Train me,” he demanded.

 

That got Madara’s attention. It was uncommon to have two summoning contracts - most of the times animals tended to be overprotective and competitive. Moreover, it was frighteningly easy to offend them and end up dead or hunted by various species. But, technically, that would be two contracts with _cats._ It could make things possible or the opposite - result with a disaster.

 

Miruku-san sensed his reluctance and in an instant, rushed at full speed to jump on his stomach. Madara, resigned to his fate the second he saw a movement, grunted when the cat collided with him. (Oh, he felt that roasted chicken almost leaving his stomach.)

 

“Train me, grump,” the cat purred, fawning with all its might. “I’ll be a good ninneko, I promise. I’ll stay at your side and fight with you, all I ask is training, good food, a nice warm place to sleep and some good petting from time to time. Is that really so much?”

 

“Why?” Madara asked, hands already around the white cat, scratching at soft fur behind its ears. How could a man resist a kitten?  

 

“You ask so many questions,” _bastard_ was left unsaid, but Mikuru-san’s paw hit Madara’s hand a few times, in irritation. “Is it not enough that I simply want to be a better ninneko? And have some benefits at the same time?”

 

“No.” Madara pulled gently at the cat’s ear, which gained him another glare. “Say the truth or get lost. I don’t have time for a menace like you.”

 

Mikuru-san fell silent for a few moments and if not for the constant purring, Madara would assume that the cat ignored him and fell asleep. But, eventually, the cat snorted and stomped over the Uchiha’s chest and shoulder only to jump to the top of couch frame.

 

“My clan disowned me,” the cat said, looking out the window. “They said I couldn’t even kill a nin-mouse if I tried. They said I am disgrace to their clan and all of the ninnekos, so I decided to become a ninja on my own.”

 

Madara, at that moment, experienced an eerie feeling of irrationality of it all. There he was, a time traveller, destroyer of the world, on an old couch - that his back will remember for days - listening to a story of one abandoned, dead-last cat. All of that, after he cooked dinner and cleaned.

 

Hashirama would die seeing him like this.

 

“Ask Fuku,” Madara stated, reaching for his coat to use it as a cover. “If he says my cats don’t mind, I’ll sign a contract with you.”

 

“You are an evil man, truly.” Mikuru-san growled, “interrupting my story like that. And then ordering me to ask your _domestic kittens_ approval! Me, a ninneko!”

 

“Good night, menace.”

 

 

V.

 

If Madara remembered correctly - and his _very own eyes_ made sure of that - he had three months and eight days week before Rin’s death, before Obito will be strong enough and stable enough to move around. Of course, Hashirama cells will take much longer to settle and accept the new body and chakra, to acclimate with it, but all of that will be done after Zetsu and all the White Clones burn to ashes.

 

It’ll take him half a day, maybe a little bit more, to travel undetected to Mountain Graveyard and use the opening of Zetsu’s departure, to destroy Gedo Mazo and its contents. Madara Uchiha of this time will be killed and all of it will leave only - and yet - Kaguya’s Shadow.

 

It was a risky tactic.

 

It would be far wiser to get rid of the Shadow itself first and foremost, but Madara knew how that creature fought - and if it sensed a rival it could not defeat, it would surely escape. And then Madara would be short on time to destroy the statue and his younger self.

 

With Gedo Mazo in ruin and original Madara dead, Zetsu would have to go into hiding but it’ll be left with nothing. And Uchiha was certain it would come for revenge, furious and unbalanced - an formidable opponent but at the same time, easier to defeat than on normal terms. It surely wouldn’t stop until it killed him.

 

Madara would have much greater chances of ridding the world of Rabbit Goddess that way.

 

That plan left Madara with more than three months of sitting and stewing, even without a distraction of simple training - he needed to stay anonymous, even in a village that already whispered about him. He had no doubt that _someone_ will come to investigate should he overstay his welcome, but so far, so good.

 

Cho - the little blond girl - looked quite heartbroken that morning, when she found out about Mikuru-san sudden leave. Madara did not bother explaining to the girl the concept of summons and summoning contracts and instead offered her a sparse excuse. _He’s helping me with an errand_ wasn’t perhaps his brightest idea, but the girl accepted it reluctantly and went to buy groceries.

 

Madara ended up alone for more than three hours and as a result, cleaning the whole house out of sheer boredom.  _Leave a ninja alone with himself and he’ll go mad_ his grandmother used to say and there was more truth to her words than anyone could imagine. Madara has spent years as an unmoving living corpse but he was sleeping most of the time and all of his moments of consciousness were occupied with planning out the war, Zetsu or training Obito.

 

Now, he had dust and mould as his enemies.

 

Perhaps the dirty carpet too if he could somehow get his hands on vinegar and bleach. 

 

When Cho returned, two baskets full of food and a board if not a little strained smile, she found her guest on his knees, vehemently and with dedication scrubbing the bathroom floor. Hair pulled into a high ponytail and an old apron on, he still looked very much as a deadly shinobi - just a bit more domesticated one.

 

“Um-” she started, not really sure what to do with the man. “Will you make dinner?”

 

Her only reply was a furious grunt and red eyes, looking at the bathroom’s mould as if ready to set it on fire.

 

 

 

Cho was seven years old and orphaned by the war - Madara found out later that week. Her parents were average shinobi at best, never going past the chunnin rank, but they were also the first to be sent to the front line. Not much of a war fighters but rather a silent assassins or spies, they fallen within the first couple of weeks.

 

Cho was given a short letter informing her of her parents death and a small pouch of Ryo as a thank you for their service. That was all.

 

Madara knew war by heart and all that came with it - orphans pretty much always accompanied them. Years ago, during the Clan Wars, things were much simpler. If a child was orphaned within the clan, there was always someone there to protect them and care for them - a family, however distant. If it was a child from civilian village that was on Uchiha Clan territory and if they showed any promise of becoming a shinobi - they were also taken care of, taught how to fight and stay alive as long as possible.

 

But a civilian child with no talent for using chakra? They were the ones left behind, ignored and forgotten, even by the noble and honourable Senju. Cho seemed to be exactly in that situation, but who sensible would abandon a child of two chunnins was beyond Madara’s comprehension. It was, simply put, illogical, to throw away a potential fighting force.

 

Besides, orphaned children were the easiest to manipulate, to bend and twist until they suited your needs – they made the best soldiers that lived for and yearned affections of their teachers. 

 

“I found Mikuru-san in my house one day” she said one evening, that found both of them sitting on the old couch and enjoying nicely brewed matcha. “He looked hungry so I fed him and then he started talking and I fainted. But we became friends.”

 

Cho fell silent after that, as if lost in her own thoughts. Madara didn’t bother to disturb her, she was, very obviously, lonely in an empty house and now, without even the white menace to entertain her.

 

“I really hope he’ll come back,” she whispered under her nose and Uchiha sighed with resignation.

 

“I can ask Fuku how things go,” he offered, inwardly considering if that little bit of chakra would be noticeable for other shinobi. Madara himself could sense some patrols - most likely two teams of four - running along the border of Kusa and Taki, so far without any skirmishes. He was not a sensor though, even if he had put effort into training that skill, thus, could never be entirely certain.

 

“Really?” Cho bounced with excitement, depression from a moment ago completely forgotten. “Can you talk to other cats? Are there other talking cats? Mikuru-san told me he is a very special one and it’s hard to find cat like him.”

 

“Of that, I’m sure,” Madara commented dryly. “Fuku is definitely not like your friend. He’s...” _definitely children inappropriate_ now when he thought about the cat’s tendency to swear. “A very unique kitten.”

 

In for a penny, in for a pound.

 

Madara bit his thumb and put his hand on the battered couch, whispering the summoning. Cho made an awed _ohh!_ when a small kitten walked out of a poof of white smoke. Uchiha, in his mind, prayed that the cat would have at least enough sense to behave around a child.

 

“Bastard!” Fuku greeted as usual, to Madara’s resigned snort. “Why did you sent that little white fucker over to me? Did you know what I had to do to get rid of him?”

 

Madara bend over his knees and hid behind his hands. That was a _terrific_ idea to bring Fuku, out of all of his summons. Truly, Uchiha, you have an unique gift when it comes to cheering up others.

 

“Please tell me you didn’t kill him,” Madara muttered with mortification. He did not need a crying seven year old.

 

“Mikuru-san went to meet you?” Cho asked with all the innocence of a child. The idea of her kitten possibly being killed, somehow missed her ears. Or maybe she just choose not to hear it? Izuna always choose not to hear him when he asked his brother to clean. “Is he all right? I’ve been worried...”

 

Fuku cast one look at the girl, then another at Madara and whistled, amusing grin in place.

 

“Woah, you evil bastard you! You disappear for so long, summon me only to task me with impossible and then, the second time just so I can see you adopted a kid!” Fuku giggled behind his paw.

 

Madara didn’t feel like raising his head to face his old friend. How, how could he forget that easily about the cat’s character? Back in the days, the both of them enjoyed commenting on Hashirama failures and Tobirama incredulous bad luck - but now, with no Senju to make fun of in sight, Madara, it seemed, became the next target.

 

“He didn’t adopt me!” Cho protested, pouting. “Shinobi-san is just staying at my house! He might clean and cook, but I’m sure he has a good reason to hide!”

 

On one hand, it was quite perceptive of the girl to notice his need for a hideout, but on the other, Fuku was now rolling with laughter, unable to even gasp for a breath.

 

“ _Shinobi-san_ ” Fuku parrotted, between bouts of giggles. “Since when you became a _housemaid?_ Oh wait till my sisters and brothers find out! They’ll be more inclined to visit you, I’m sure!”

 

“What did you do with Mikuru?” Madara grunted, trying to bit back an enormous sigh.

 

“I give him twelve tasks to complete,” Fuku said, suddenly all serious. “If he proves worthy, we’ll take him in. You’ll not sign another contract though.”

 

A knock at the door had them all in surprise.

 

 Madara, tensed and reached for his katana in a second and Fuku focused on the outside of the house. Only Cho remained obvious to the danger that waited at her doorstep. It _had to_ be someone powerful and highly skilled in hiding their presence, for Madara not to notice them. Even when distracted Uchiha was not _that bad_ at sensing others.

 

“Quiet,” he ordered the child, voice like steel. “Hid in the closet.”

 

Cho, now scared, ran to obey her guest as fast as she could. The closet wasn’t an original hideout, nor a safe one for that matter, but it would hid her from sight for at least a moment and that’s all Madara really needed. One second was enough with Eternal Mangekyou Sharingan to trap even the most advanced fighters - and he had hoped in silence, that element of surprise form now on, was on his part.

 

After all, who would expect a dead man in a village like that?

 

“Is anyone home?” A voice boomed from the outside and Madara straightened, then without a sound, moved toward the darkest corner of the living room - and at the same time, main room of the whole house.

 

“I sensed a chakra coming out from this place,” a voice continued and Madara cursed himself for indulging a child and summoning Fuku. The cat was perched on top of the couch now, looking and behaving like any other domesticated pet would.

 

“Come out, come out! It’s freezing out there! I’m not an enemy ninja” the voice changed to a more pleading one. “I’ve asked around your village for a place to stay a night and they all told me a little girl named Cho is housing shinobis! I can pay you!”

 

Madara cursed once more, briefly considering a quick retreat. He could _shunshin_ the hell out of here, grabbing Fuku on his way - but that would mean leaving Cho without protection and with an unknown ninja. Damn the whole world and especially Madara’s over protectiveness when it came to children. It’s all because of his brothers’ deaths and by extension the Senju Clan.

 

All their fault. All of it.

 

“Okay! You want it or not _gaki_ I’m coming in!” It was a fair warning and Madara prepared himself for a jutsu or an attack with some sort of a weapon, eyes blazing red. What he did not expect though, was the man to simply break the doors and barge in like a barbarian.

 

They stared at each other, two legendary ninjas.

 

 Madara Uchiha, half hidden between a wall and a bookshelf, with _Sharingan_ swirling in his eyes and yet not hiding his surprise, and Jiraiya the Sannin, wet from head to toe, with an expression of a shocked disbelief and a bit of an _oh fuck_ on his face.  

 

One second later, Jiraiya hit the floor with a loud _thud_ and Madara cursed again, this time aloud and with passion.

 

 


	2. A cat and a toad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madara vs Jiraiya and Cho's mighty revange! Be prepared for more grumpiness and precious kittens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! I'm so sorry it took me so long to complete another chapter and edit a bit the last one! But the good news is, I've finally invested in Microsoft Office software so writting should be only a pleasure from now on. (Ha, who am I kidding?) 
> 
> Anyway! I still NEED A BETA, not only or for grammar and typos check up, but for telling me if my characterization or plan for the story are good enough. If you want to contact me I now have a twitter account - @rpingbadthings ! Please do interact with me from time to time :D

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Who is he?” Cho asked, when Madara eventually dragged unconscious man toward the kitchen. “Is he dead?”

 

“That,” Madara grunted, dropping his prey on the table. “Is not your concern. He’s going to stay with us for a couple of days but I assure you, he’s not going to cause any problems at all.”

 

At that, Cho came closer, curious eyes taking in the man’s weird hairstyle and clothing. Meanwhile, Madara took to scavenging through the Sannin’s backpack and pouches, figuring that there simply had to be something useful in there. And what harm would it do to have more Ryo tucked away for an emergency? He was a legendary Uchiha, Founding Father of Konoha, but that did not mean he could come up with basic living arrangements on his own - and his inability to use Mokuton to create a _fucking house_ out of nowhere was something Hashirama always rubbed in, with that all to cheerful smile of his.

 

Madara grunted under his nose, remembering exactly why he hated all of the Senju.

 

“Are we robbing him?” Cho asked again, then very cautiously poked Jiraiya’s cheek. “He looks dead to me.”

 

“Whatever you’re going to do with him you better not use fucking chakra again,” Fuku contributed from the couch. “There are patrols nearby. Your little stunt with that bloody eyes could have caught their attention.”

 

Madara stiffened at that, trying to focus on Taki-nins patrolling the terrain. But beside their clear presence and movements, he couldn’t sense any intention from them. Fuku was at least better than him and so Madara took his warning seriously. It wouldn’t do to call attention to himself, not now, when he had an unconscious Konoha Sannin on his kitchen table. 

 

“Well, it’s been a while since I played with fuinjutsu,” he muttered, looking with a spark of mischievousness in his eyes at the nice set of brushes, inks and papers intended specifically for sealing.

 

“Cho, we’re going to take his clothes off.”

 

 

 

Getting Jiraiya out of his clothes - and _dear lord_ how much could a man weight?! He was not an Akimichi as far as Madara remembered but perhaps there was some distant connection  - and coming up with a seal good enough to suppress as well as drain the other’s chakra took them most of the evening.

 

Fuku, the treacherous little ball of fluff, decided to hang out just to watch Madara try to recall his fuinjutsu lessons. (It was a long time ago and given how much times Uzumaki Mito hit him in the head during lectures, it was a wonder he could remember his own name.) While Cho prepared them a nice supper - cooked fish with vegetable soup.

 

“Is he going to wake up?” Cho asked hesitantly form her place on the couch - she had a great view of the kitchen that way and thus, enjoyed watching _shinobi-san_ stormy face. Her unexpected guest was frowning and staring at the thin yellowish papers and since last two hours, gained quite a few ink stains on his pale hands and face.

 

“Eventually,” Madara murmured absentmindedly, then bit his lip before cursing the whole thing.

 

Cho keenly observed as the man added another part of his seal to the paper version of it - using Jiraiya’s big stomach as his impromptu desk - and then frown even more. She already figured that shinobi-san wasn’t any good at what he attempted to do but from his frustration and determination alone, she guessed there’s no other way around it. Nonetheless, it was the most fun since she found him scrubbing her bathroom floor as if the world’s fate depended on it.

 

Honestly, Cho started to consider opening up a housing business - if all stray ninja were so obsessed with cleanness and cooking balanced, delicious meals (and cutting wood for winter and repairing rooftops) _and paying her for staying the night and buying the food_ she was going to be rich and happy very, very soon. Of course, there was always the chance that they would kill her on the spot instead of helping out. During her short life, Cho heard a lot of stories about shinobi and as most of them came from the villagers, not really used to seeing ninja except for occasionally interacting with her parents, they always contained words like _extremely dangerous_ and _deadly._ She also knew them to be _causing a lot of troubles_ and being _inhuman and unfeeling._

 

While she could easily agree that her grumpy guest was _extremely dangerous_ he was also way too moody to be _an emotionless weapon._ He cursed, he spat and when he got really angry, his whole face reddened like a tomato - never before had she witnessed a man staring so intently at a cookbook. But he also hummed songs when he was cooking and  was bouncing on his feet when he didn’t pay attention to still himself - and he talked to cats, just as Cho did. Apparently, he befriended a whole lots of them and even if Fuku was rather rude kitten, he submitted to petting as any other cat.

 

It’s already been ten days since she invited shinobi-san to stay under her roof and she knew he’ll be gone in a matter of time. It was never meant to be permanent arrangement - and even if she liked having an actual adult around the house and a man willing to help her with heavy lifting and repairs, she had nothing to offer or to bribe him with to stay for good.

 

And as she did not plan to became a ninja herself, it was very unlikely that shinobi-san would take her under his care. During wartime, she would only be a burden.

 

“Are you going to cry on me, kid?” Fuku asked, lifting his head from her lap. He was enjoying a petting session and didn’t appreciate apparent change of mood of his new human.

 

“No, no,” Cho shook her head without conviction, “I’m sorry Fuku-san. I was just lost in thoughts.”

 

“Some dark one you have then, Cho-chan,” with that Fuku turned to lay on his back and raising one paw, gently poked her hand. “What’s on your mind?”

 

 “I’m going to miss you and shinobi-san when you leave,” she said quietly, fearing that admitting it would break the dam that held her tears back. “And Mikuru-san isn’t back yet.”

 

Fuku frowned at that, as much as a cat was able to.

 

“Master-bastard has a lot to do,” Fuku offered, half-purring from gentle belly scratch. “And a lot on his mind. I can smell indecision all around him. Whatever is happening, he’s not yet sure what to do.”

 

“Huh?” Cho looked at the cat in confusion - what exactly was she supposed to do with that knowledge? She knew close to nothing about shinobi affairs and as a child how much life advice was she able to give to anyone? Much less to her guest?

 

“You stopped scratching,” Fuku pointed out, offended. “And the bastard stopped frowning. He’s finished, I think.”

 

And indeed, when Cho raised her head to glance toward the kitchen, the almost-naked man on her table was covered in ink from head to toe - most of the characters focused around his stomach and chest. Cho wondered if she could paint a mustache on his face when he was still asleep - just for breaking her door lock.

 

“Come here, Cho,” Shinobi-san called from the kitchen and Cho jumped to obey. Fuku, abruptly thrown from his warm place on her legs, meowed angrily and bend his back, staring at the both humans as if they dumped a bowl of cold water on him.

 

“Ungrateful child!” The kitten hollered, but Cho was already in the kitchen, occupied with Madara.

 

 

 

 

With the Sannin striped down to his underwear, sealed by a mix of three various fuinjutsu methods and finally, tied to an old armchair - because the kitchen chair really did not look to be enough to support a small child, let alone a heavy man - with poisoned ninja wire, and with Cho sleeping deeply in the next room, Madara at last had some time to think.

 

His situation was salvageable, even if Jiraiya sudden appearance caught him off of guard.

 

Fuku already established a steady network in Kirigaruke, should Madara need any information from there - and even personally found the young, twelve years old Hoshigaki Kisame[1]. The kid, blue and shark-like thanks to his clan gene pool was already ostracized and looked at with mixture of fear and disgust. However, he had yet to gain Sameheda from his current sensei. Madara for a sparse moment entertained a thought to snatch the kid from Bloody Mist, along, perhaps with Momochi Zabuza.

 

Maybe reinstalling Akatsuki would be in order; he could use Kakuzu’s[2] skills as the immortal man was almost Madara’s own age and trained to take on the highest priced ninja. Persuading a bounty hunter wouldn’t be that much of a challenge - assuming, of course, that Madara would have enough money for the greedy man. But that left the rest of his organization - the Amegaruke Trio and the original founders of Akatsuki, already under the influence of Zetsu, Sasori, in an unknown location, probably collecting corpses for his puppet army and Deidara and Hidan – two _newborns_ if he counted right.

 

Uchiha Itachi was a problem on his own and Madara has not yet decided if his own clan should be kept alive this time around or exterminated just like the last time. (It was a lot of fun, ordering the massacre and at the same time changing the balance of power not only in Konoha and Fire Country but on the whole continent.) The presence of young Uchiha genius in Madara’s mind, brought along _Shimura Danzo_ and with that man, free of charge, came a headache of a massive size.

 

Grudgingly, Madara added to his ever growing list of problems Orochimaru, who should be experimenting on orphans right about now - and who will run away from Konoha as soon as the words that Namikaze Minato became the Yondaime Hokage break out. The Snake Sannin was of a great help the last time when Hashirama’s cells needed to be adapted to their new body and Madara was not sure if it was worth the risk to simply kill the man and hope for the best.

 

Obito was his student, once. No matter how twisted that relationship was, Madara taught the boy his best techniques  and then some more, if he was responsible for his upbringing back then, who’s to say he’s been released from the duty now?

 

“Madara-bastard,” Fuku purred, lazily stretching himself on the windowsill. Madara was standing next to the window, looking into the night, at the big moon above them. Once, he thought it beautiful - but after Kaguya’s betrayal, the moon became a reminder of his failure.

 

“You look as if you got a rotten fish for dinner,” Fuku pointed out, a glimpse of curiosity in his eyes. “What are you up to? Cunning in the middle of the night like that.”

 

“You’re not subtle at all,” Madara snorted, throwing a glance at the cat. “Why should I tell you? You  can’t keep a secret even if your life depends on it.”

 

“Something is bothering you,” the cat jumped onto his arms and as soon as Madara started to scratch behind kitten’s ears, he continued : “whatever it is, it made you smell miserable and anxious. Don’t tell me the details, bastard, just let me help you make some decisions.”

 

“Are you going to be my conscience now?” Madara asked with amusement, yet he did hear the offer.

 

“I’m a cat,” Fuku reminded flatly. “We’re not good at conscience in general and I don’t care what happens with humans as long as I can still get the milk and good petting out of them.”

 

“Of course,” Madara deadpanned with a small smile on his lips. “You don’t care.”

 

“Now, spill before I get bored of your brooding.”

 

“Fine. I’m going to destroy a mountain, kill a shadow and save the world,” Madara said, looking all to smug when he met Fuku’s agitated stare.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me now, bastard?” The cat meowed with irritation. “That’s the worst explanation I’ve ever heard, not to mention how ridiculous it sounds.”

 

“Yet it’s all true,” Madara hummed, but then amusement fled from him when he sighed. “There are a lot of problems with that plan though. There’s a girl I could save or let her die. I know what will happen if she’s gone and I like that outcome. On the other hand, if kept alive, she could be an asset.”

 

“Then, there’s a man that’s useful but also dangerous and a  burden at the same time. I’m almost certain that I’ll need his skills and knowledge and his _cooperation_ but gaining it is an issue in itself.” Madara rubbed his nose and took a deep breath. He found painkillers in one of Jiraiya’s pouches, clearly meant for hangover, but who was he to be picky?

 

An Uchiha, that he was and surly being picky came with the bloodline.

 

“As if it was not enough, another man with too much power needs to die,” Uchiha muttered through gritted teeth. “But I have no idea what his death would cause.”

 

_Oh dear lord, and who’s going to clean all that Root mess?_

“There’s a boy I need to kidnap and keep from his Hidden Village,” Madara continued, voice weaker and weaker under the amount of decisions he had yet to make. “He’ll need training and medical care and _incentive_ to stay with me for at least a year.”

 

That’s how long it took for Hashirama’s cells last time to fully merge with Obito’s left side. By the time Naruto Uzumaki was born, his young apprentice was powerful enough to take on Yondaime Hokage and _succeed._ Granted, Zetsu did a lot of work to help their mission and support Obito’s body, but a fact was a fact and at least with that matter Madara had a set time frame.

 

“And a Fox that will need to be contained,” Uchiha added offhandedly. “Of course, I need to figure out where to find a safe house suitable for my needs and money to afford an adolescent boy. I can’t live with Cho-chan but leaving her here isn’t an option either. She doesn’t want to become a shinobi so I can’t take her with me - and, finally, I need to figure out what to do with The Toad Sannin.”

 

Fuku, who kept silent throughout Madara’s tirade took a few long seconds to process all the information - which, to be honest, weren’t very informative. But it was some insight to his bastard-master’s problems and the cat pondered solving at least some of them.

 

“Nekomanta is looking for a human servant,” Fuku suggested quietly. “If Cho-chan passes his test, she’ll be protected and well cared for.”

 

Madara winced at the Demon Cat’s name - their relationship was not the best and largely based on Sharingan’s ability to subdue the monster. But Nekomanta protected his human servants and since he tended to keep whole families, Cho wouldn’t be lonely. And she would love all the ninneko from there.

 

“Any other miraculous solutions?” Madara prompted.

 

“Fuck you,” Fuku spat, “I’m a cat not an oracle. But if you take your stupid head out of your ass for a second and listen to me, I will tell you that death is an end to all possibilities. If you kill someone, that’s it. Dead people can’t change anything, much less help you save the world.”

 

With that, Fuku furiously bit into Madara’s hand and then, disappeared with a poof of white smoke.

 

“Hn.”

 

III.

 

Madara was prepared for the Sannin’s oncoming wake up - he sent Cho to buy even more food, seeing as form now on there’ll be another man to feed under her roof, and make her promise to spent as much Jiraiya’s money as she could - on new clothes, books or anything the village had to offer and she wanted or needed.

 

If Madara ever ran out of Ryo, he was a goddamned _shinobi legend_ he could easily rob someone. (Hunting down Kakuzu and prying from his mind all the secrets stashes of gold would be like winning national lottery. Uchiha swore, the zombie-man was like an deadly hamster on a mission to collect all the money in the world.)

 

In the absence of cats and Cho, Madara busied himself with washing the dishes from yesterday’s dinner, with half a mind focused on the bound man in the living room. He sensed it, the second Jiraiya regained consciousness - the moment the man realized he’s tied and sealed, with no way of accessing his chakra. 

 

“Jiraiya of the Sannin,” Madara began, relishing in how fast the man stilled in his bounds. “Thirty six years old, teammate of Orochimaru and Tsunade, protégé of Sandaime Hokage. Sensei of Namikaze Minato. Fuinjutsu Master, Spy  Master-”

 

“Pervert Master, too, you know?” Jiraiya cut in, voice dry of humor. “Have I meet a fan of mine? If you wanted an autograph you didn’t have to tie me up so thoroughly. Unless that’s your kink? Just so you know, I’m not going to kink shame anyone... ”

 

Madara’s eyebrow twitched in irritation.

 

“Are you into children as well?” Madara snarled, a porcelain cup breaking in his hand. “Orphans, maybe? That’s what you were doing with that trio in Ame? What you wanted from Cho?”

 

Madara’s questions were met with silence and eventually, he was the one to give up and turn to face Jiraiya. And the man was a sight to behold, half-naked, tied to a chair and covered in seals – and yet, just his look could freeze a jounin in one place. All the pretense of joyous, perverted drunk were gone and Madara could finally glimpse at the finesse of Toad Sannin, could finally believe that he, in fact, earned the title.

 

“How do you know about Ame?” The Sannin asked with even, steady tone.

 

“What were their names?” Madara mused, a sly smile forming on his lips. “The girl with blue hair – Konan? Then the Rinnengan – Nagato and the loud one, Yahiko. I think he’s dead.”

 

Madara wasn’t entirely sure at what point Yahiko was killed, but that didn’t really matter at the moment. What he certainly knew though, was that the boy’s body was already turned into Nagato’s weapon. He supervised the process, after all. It was good to know where the obsession with ginger heads came from.

 

“What do you want from them?” It was quite visible that Jiraiya tried to remain clam, but apparently children weren’t only Madara’s soft spot. Ha. “Who are you?”

 

“Who do you think I am?” Madara countered, coming a few steps closer.

 

Then, he felt it.

 

He wasn’t _born_ a sensor, it was a skill he had had to learn in order to survive. His own summons used the very same nature chakra that he could feel in the air now. And if he hadn’t spent decades learning to distinguish it, hadn’t know what to look for, he would have missed Jiraiya tampering with his seals. How was he doing it so calmly? The general knowledge was that everything alive in this world had chakra – normal people, animals, plants – all had that _life energy_ that was so intangible and scattered that only the best of shinobi could recognize it and bend it to their will.

 

And then, there were the Senju.

 

To which it came naturally, but Madara decided to fuck them a long time ago.

 

Mangekyou Sharingan shined in his eyes, as Madara closed the distance between himself and his prisoner. It wouldn’t do, to let the man escape and bring even more attention to Cho’s house.

 

“I really wouldn’t do that,” Madara threatened, his Sharingan spinning menacingly. 

 

“Listen,” Jiraiya said, looking at Madara’s chest instead of his face. “It’s obvious you’re an Uchiha, so you must be from Konoha. I don’t know what happened to you – probably war, am I right?  Your team left you but you survived?”

 

That was a possible story, Madara mussed, but he was still in position of control here. The Sannin knew close to nothing and apparently had no idea what the Uchiha Clan thought one needed to do to obtain Mangekyou Sharingan – the stone tablets were yet another thing Madara would need to take care of. That, though, could wait.

 

Now, the question was, should he antagonize the Sannin and take whatever he needed by force or should he try to fool the man? Madara wasn’t that good at pretend games, he was a heavy hitter, a man who shined on the front lines. He was average when it came to more subtle jobs – he was capable of doing most of them, but still, it wasn’t his best skill.

 

“Listen,” Jiraiya repeated, this time with more force and what was that? Empathy? Did the man really thought that turning his situation from interrogated to interrogator would be that easy?

 

“I’ve been running from this war for years,” the Sannin started, looking slightly to the left, at the battered couch and a fluffy blanked Cho left there carelessly. “I don’t wear my headband and I don’t take sides. I’m tired of killing people.”

 

Madara regarded the man once again, carefully. Jiraiya’s words struck close to home. It wasn’t that Madara was tired of _killing_ per se – it was that Cho had reminded him how once his family stood proud and numerous, how he played with and teased his younger brothers, how he trained and fought arm to arm with Izuna.

 

How he lost them all.

 

Sharingan melted away, as he let out a sigh. He was tired of losing people. Hell, at this point, who did he have to lose? Cho? A girl he met not even two weeks ago?

 

No.

 

He had one more person to lose, a boy he once mentored. Obito’s fate was in his hands now and the boy had so many precious people – his team, his Clan, his Village. Uchiha Obito hadn’t lost them yet and if Madara could pull this world saving shit over, the kid wouldn’t have to. Not to Kaguya.

 

“Uchiha Toka,” he said after a moment of silence. He had no reservations about using a name of a woman that even Tobirama was reluctant to face. She might have been a Senju but her temper burned as hot as Amateratsu.

 

“Toka?” Jiraiya didn’t seem convinced, going by his expression, but thankfully decided to leave Madara’s gender alone. “Are you going to untie me? Are we friends now?”

 

“Hn.”

 

IV.

 

“You’re an idiot,” Fuku said, from his safe spot in Cho’s arms. “A bastard and an idiot. You should have killed the pervert not housed him!”

 

Cho chuckled at the kitten’s outburst, mostly because he was whining about Jiraiya since he appeared in the house this evening. Madara, busy with dinner preparations, didn’t paid much attention to him. Cho, on the contrary, was all to eager to entertain the black menace, mainly by petting and scratching.

 

“Is that so?” Madara asked, absentmindedly.

 

“Definitely a bastard,” Jiraiya agreed, still tied up to an armchair. In the last four hours the man managed to undo most of Madara’s sealing – which was impressive, given the fact that he could only use what little nature chakra he was able to gather without attracting the patrols on the border.

 

“Who the hell taught you fuinjutsu?” The Sannin continued, shooting Madara a dark look.

 

“Mind your language,” Madara chided, adding more seasoning to his chicken. The whole house smelled of delicious teriyaki sauce and nicely done vegetables. It was the reason Cho and Fuku decided to invade the kitchen – in hopes of scraps before the feast – instead of distracting Jiraiya.

 

And if Madara ever thought Cho was harmless, combined with his cat, they made a horrible duo. Cho, wanting to revenge her front doors like a true Uchiha, came up with two permanent markers and taking advantage of Jiraiya’s bound hands, started on her art. By the time dinner was almost ready, the Sannin had two sets of mustache, dots on his face and neck and a big “ _pervert”_ written on his forehead. The last one, courtesy of Fuku’s sly manipulation. The kitten wasn’t passive in this whole scheme and every time Jiraiya focused enough energy to dispel all the seals in one go, the cat jumped at his groin to remind the man of his full bladder.

 

“If the cat can curse so do I!” Jiraiya yelled from the living room.

 

The next second a burst of chakra made all of Madara’s hair stand up. He tensed, expecting an attack directed at himself – or Cho and Fuku – but nothing of the sort happened. Jiraiya simply ran toward the bathroom, cursing little cats and children and all of the Uchihas on his way.

 

“Idiots,” Fuku snorted. “What are we going to do with him?” 

 

“Feed him,” Cho answered, gently placing the kitten on the counter. “I’ve bought plenty of food and some sake for _shinobi-san._ ” With that, Cho looked expectantly at her guest/friend.

 

“Fine,” Madara muttered as he dried his hands on his apron. “I’m Toka.”

 

“Toka?” Cho tilted her head to one side. “Isn’t that a name for a woman?”  

 

Madara rose his eyebrows.

 

“And?”

 

Cho contemplated him for a moment but at some point, obviously reached an conclusion, because her soft smile extended to a board grin. Out of the blue she seemed all too happy.

 

“It’s  good! Now, let’s eat!”

 

 

The dinner was an awkward at first, with two potentially deadly shinobi eying each other from opposite ends of a small table. Nonetheless, Cho seemed to be quite content, if her small smile throughout the whole thing was an indication and her ever good humor was even brighter when Jiraiya couldn’t wash off all of the permanent ink from his face.

 

No killing intent was released during the meal and no blood was spilled, which was a small wonder. And to top it all off,  thanks to Cho’s constant babbling and little stories she started to share with the Sannin, Madara gathered a bit of information about the outside world as well as about the man himself.

 

Jiraiya, as it turned out, was on his trip to explore the country and had a pass signed by the leader of Takigaruke – which Madara didn’t manage to find among the man’s possessions. As the Sannin explained to Cho, he was a writer and was searching for inspiration for his next novel. His first _A tale of the utterly gusty shinobi_ didn’t sell as well as he and his publisher expected, but on the other hand, during the war not many ninja had a time or set of mind to read and civilians, most likely, had already enough of shinobi ruining their villages.

 

The man, it looked like, believed that Madara’s name was Toka and that he in fact, was an Uchiha left to die on the battlefield. It was no use to correct the Sannin’s assumptions and lying was so much easier if someone else did half of the job. So Madara decided to stick to the story, not denying nor confirming, simply letting Jiraiya draw his own conclusions.

 

“So, you’re taking care of the kid?” Jiraiya asked, once the sun set and both of them were sitting on the old couch, with Cho asleep on the armchair. Madara covered the girl in her fluffy blanked, which apparently prompted the other man to speak.

 

“Hn,” Madara nodded, locking his eyes on the girl. “One may say that.”

 

“The villager said you appeared out of nowhere,” the Sannin took a sip of the sake and leaned on the couch, making himself comfortable. “How did the two of you met?”

 

“Few weeks after her parents died she found a wounded ninneko in the forest,” Madara began, alerting the story to suit his needs. “She helped him and he stayed.”

 

“So your cats know each other?” Whatever Jiraiya was thinking, Madara’s word seemed to assure the man of something. He hummed in acknowledgement. “Your fuinjutsu was a messy.”

 

“It did the job,” Madara countered, slightly offended by the remark. If Jiraiya couldn’t access the nature chakra he wouldn’t have freed himself! Some of Madara’s anger seeped through, because the next second, Jiraiya had to cover his mouth to stop himself from laughing and waking Cho up.

 

“Are you looking for a teacher, kid?” Jiraiya then asked.

 

“What?”

 

“For a self-taught, you’re quite good at sealing,” the Sannin continued as if his words made perfect sense. “And given what you’ve told me, you’re good at spying too. If I had to bet, I think it’s your summons that do the job for you, but anyway. You don’t want to return to Konoha and you don’t want to fight in the war. Why not come with me? I’m sure Sarutobi-sensei wouldn’t mind if I found myself a new apprentice. Cho-chan can come with us as well.”

 

_WHAT?_

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1][2] Kakuzu's and Hidan's backstory and ages are purely my imagination. 
> 
> Please tell me if this story is interesting or not! Also, you can ask me questions or yell at me to write faster on my twitter @rpingbadthings ! :D


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